The Perks of Fame
by charrrmed
Summary: Michonne lets the famous Rick Grimes in on a little secret. Based on the bedroom scene in 9x01.


A/N: I shouldn't have left you (left you), without a dope fic to step to (step to, step to). It's been almost a year! While the show did the most with Carl and disgusted me, a bigger part of it is that I got crazy busy starting in May, and I still am. I've only watched the first ep of the new season so far. I do have a few Richonne fics in the works, including one that is based on last season's finale. I will be posting a Halloween-themed fic on November 2nd that I wrote based on a prompt from Richonne Just Desserts. Until then, I hope you like this one!

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Michonne snuggled comfortably in Rick's embrace, ready to end her night. This was her favorite place to be. It was also her favorite position in which to wake up. Rick loved to start the day with an orgasm, so after he got her all good and worked up, they usually assumed this position to crescendo. But right now, she was focusing on falling asleep, her eyes closed, him playing with her hair serving as a wordless lullaby.

Her plan for rest was delayed by an erroneous observation, however.

"How did I get so lucky finding you?" Rick asked.

Michonne opened her eyes. It was a rhetorical question. At least, she thought it was. Nevertheless, she rose up and turned to face him.

"Um. We're remaking communities, not rewriting history. I found you."

Rick rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean," he said lazily.

"Mm." She lifted the sheets to move closer to him. She propped her head on her hand and stared down at his beautiful, moonlit face.

"You look like you're positionin' to make trouble, not go to sleep," Rick observed.

"I'm just curious all of a sudden," she said with a shrug that was way too nonchalant for Rick's liking. "At which point do you think you got lucky? Before or after you tried to sell me down the river?"

"Jesus Christ," he said, chuckling as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Michonne waited patiently, a teasing smile forming on her face.

"You know, if I remember correctly, you said you understood why I did that, why I _considered_ doing that."

"You _did_ do it. And I did understand, but it was still my life you put on the line. Not to mention that I wasn't ready to go back out there on my own, so I wasn't gonna stir up dust with you or the council. I was _boiling_ when I saw you again."

"You looked like you wanted to lay me out."

"I sure as hell did. And I saw the way Daryl was standing next to you, ready to stop me. He would've gotten it, too."

Rick guffawed, picturing Michonne toppling a determined Daryl.

"I didn't sleep the first three nights that you were back," he said.

That was news to Michonne. "Really?"

"Hell yeah! I kept picturing you guttin' me in my sleep with the sword."

Michonne broke into laughter.

"I had my eyes trained on that curtain nice and tight, my gun by my side."

Michonne went from elated to indignant, her good humor disappearing. "You would've shot me?"

"I would've scared you."

"You would've shot me?!" she asked again, lifting from her elbow to her hand.

" _No,_ " Rick insisted as he rose, too. "I would've _pointed_ it at you. Scared you. A _deterrent_ ," he explained.

The couple stared at each other for a few breaths. Michonne raised her eyebrows, silently telling him that he better not have shot her if he knew what was good for him. Rick dipped his head forward, waiting for her to understand what he meant.

And then, Michonne slowly slid her eyes off of him and laid back down, propping her head on her hand again, and Rick laid down on his back and stared up at her. They'd reached a conclusion, one that didn't matter at all.

"Do you know how confusing it was to be attracted to the woman you thought was plotting to kill you?" Rick asked.

That returned the smile to her face. "Try being attracted to the guy who'd throw you under the bus to save his people. I was disgusted with myself. Does that make us weird?" she asked over the sound of his laughter.

"No. It means we got good taste."

Michonne decided that she agreed and leaned down to kiss him. They were often very silly before bed. It was a time when Rick's humor shined. Their banter had taken a hit for a few months after they'd lost Carl. Michonne would catch him staring into space, reminiscing about the priceless moments he'd had with Carl and the countless moments he would never get. Rick would ask her how she felt, giving her opportunities to talk about the most surprising and rewarding relationship that she had built after losing her biological son.

Their devastation had deepened when they'd independently realized that they would no longer get to watch the other interacting with Carl. They would never again experience the warmth that those moments brought them.

And then had come those first smiles, those forced ones, the ones where they hadn't wanted to smile at all, but the people around them had thought that something very funny was happening. And the people around them had watched them closely, aware that they'd still been suffering, wishing that they really did think it was funny.

And then had come the semi real smiles, the ones where they really did find something funny, but they would have rather not, the ones where they had preferred to cling to the grief. Losing a loved one, especially a child, was supposed to mean that you changed forever. It was supposed to mean that you never found happiness again. Despite the fact that they had both suffered loss before, Michonne herself having lost a child, they still fell into the trap of that part of the grieving process.

And then had come the real smiles, the ones that had made them feel uncomfortable, like they were betraying Carl, like they were going to forget him. How dare they regain a sense of normalcy without him?

But they hadn't regained anything, really. Simply created something new in the wake of personal tragedy. Again.

"The famous Rick Grimes," Michonne murmured on his lips, her breath smelling of peppermint.

"I could've sworn you were in some far corner somewhere when all of that was going on," Rick said.

"I'm never too far from you when we visit that place."

Rick knew that was true. She'd made it known before their first visit to the post-Negan Sanctuary that she would not be far from him.

She was still afraid that a Savior would make an attempt on his life. So was he, on some days.

"I'm proud of you, though," she said.

"Thank you," he said stoically.

Michonne burst into laughter, and it wasn't long before he was laughing, too.

Rick did not like it when she thanked him for doing what it took to survive. That was how he saw it: she was thanking him for doing what it took to survive. She did the same things that he did and so did everyone else. Yet she'd taken to thanking him for doing something that wasn't extraordinary at all.

He preferred it when she thanked him for doing something personal, like making breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Building his garden in the backyard. Getting her personal toiletries on a run, or getting her a gift or something that she hadn't asked for. Giving her a massage. Or getting her off.

Or getting off in her mouth. She sometimes thanked him for that, too, which drove him insane in the best way.

Everyone did what it took to survive. To be clear, he liked that she noticed how hard he worked, and he was known to preen every so often when she praised him. He liked making her proud. But she could be saccharine with it. It often made him feel awkward. He usually rolled his eyes to downplay her acknowledgment.

So, Michonne had recently implemented a rule. He was not allowed to roll his eyes when she praised his work. He could only say thank you.

"We'll get there," she said, chuckling. "You're somethin' else. You can't stand me saying thank you, but you walked around for _years_ with a fantasy of fucking me for saving your life."

"Hey. That was damn good. And I'm confident it'll happen again," Rick promised.

The time in question was when Michonne had saved him from the Governor. She had been floored when he'd shared that tidbit with her. While he'd been blasé about it, she had walked around with her mind in the gutter for days.

"If being near death is the material you need for another fantasy, I'll pass. My heart can't take it. But making that come true _was_ damn good. Your fame reaches far beyond the Saviors, you know."

Rick sighed. "This again. I'm goin' to sleep. I'm tired after the past week."

"I'm serious. Rick Grimes is very famous in the Michonne Kingdom."

Now she had his attention. "The Michonne Kingdom? Sounds like where I wanna be. Alright, what am I famous for?"

Michonne gave him a smile fitting for the Cheshire cat before she seared his lips with a kiss. Rick buried his fingers in her smooth locs. It wasn't long before he took control of the kiss, even though he was under her. He angled her head how he wanted so that he could kiss her how he wanted. He reached under the covers and pulled her thigh across his body. Michonne heeded the cue and fully angled herself on top of him.

Being kissed by Rick was one of Michonne's favorite past times. He kissed her like she was a rare delicacy, with his entire being, never failing to leave her wanting.

"So good," she murmured. "But it's not that."

"What?" Rick asked as he threaded his fingers through her hair. It fell in a voluminous curtain, framing her beautiful face.

"It's not that," Michonne said. "Kissing isn't what you're famous for."

Rick slowly grinned. He hoped that this was going where he thought it was going, because he was now in the mood to play. "That's trickery, Michonne," he chided as he wrapped a loc around his index finger. "Here I thought you were bein' serious."

"I am," she insisted.

"So what am I famous for?"

Michonne threw the covers back and stood on the bed. She made quick work of her clothes. The moonlight shone lovingly on her skin.

"Take off your pants and underwear," Michonne directed as she repeatedly ran her hands through her hair and let it fall.

Rick obliged, although he was sure to voice his complaint. "You should've told me you had this in mind. I wouldn't have blown out the candles."

"I wasn't thinking about it at the time. Would you like me to put my clothes back on?"

"If you wanna sleep on the couch, sure," he said, making her laugh.

They had had sex once in the past eight days. They had gotten very busy, taking care of last minute hiccups on the four communities' plan for a joint run. This had required Rick being away from Alexandria for three days, and Michonne being away for four days prior to that as she finalized the contingency plans for if any number of things went wrong.

Rick was keenly aware of what he'd been missing. He ran his hand up his thigh, toward his hardening dick. He grabbed himself at the base and softly began to run his hand up and down, eyes fasted on the love of his life.

Michonne was a visual experience for him. He liked watching her, no matter her state of dress or undress, which was why he was still disappointed that the candles were out. He also recognized that it wasn't practical to burn the candles just because he liked looking at Michonne's naked body. He was used to making due with the moonlight, which was better than complete darkness, although complete darkness could be arousing.

He pleasured himself to the sight of her. She brought one of her hands down from her hair to rub her mound. Her hands could kill as easily as they could soothe. Her mind was sharp and her body agile. She was pragmatic in a way that would scare him if he trusted her less. His preferred method of engagement was to tell people what was happening and move on, them catching up be damned. This was especially applicable to people he did not know or like. As he had experienced more horror, his diplomacy skills had taken a hit.

She was the opposite, although she had her moments. She was thriving in this new role as leader of their small community and crafter of the future. His respect for her expanded each day and so did his desire. All that intrigued him about her was held inside of one tantalizingly tight package. He loved nothing more than to look up on the battlefield and see her standing victorious with a bloody sword or a smoking gun.

"Are you going to let me finish this?" he asked, his question punctuated with a blissful sigh as he used his other hand to play with his balls.

"Maybe," Michonne said as she slipped her fingers further to feel her intensifying arousal.

Michonne liked her visuals, too: Rick's always-steady hand expertly stroking his dick. His careful fingers fondling his balls. His face relaxing as he settled into glorifying himself. Michonne had seen his body endure so much: gunshots, punch after punch, running, trauma, and even a rock from her once upon a time. It was powerful to see a man whose actions were always directed outwardly shift his attention to himself and give his body some tender, loving care.

This side of him turned her on, which was why she always requested that he play with himself a little bit before she took over. He called her a voyeur once but said it worked for him. She had proudly accepted the label and called him an exhibitionist in denial, because he liked having sex where they could get discovered and didn't seem to care about getting caught.

She told him to stop, and his dick stood at half mass.

"Was that it?" Rick asked, his voice heavy.

"No," Michonne answered with a shake of her head. "Let's keep going."

She walked forward and then crossed him, and Rick became more eager. He took her pillow and positioned it on top of his to give himself more leverage.

Michonne lowered her pussy to Rick's mouth and held her breath for the first loving swipe of his tongue. When it came, she sighed. She braced most of her weight on her hands and blinked slowly as Rick worked on her, partially focused on the hardening of his dick, mostly focused on her enjoyment. She was a glutton for having her pussy eaten. She basked in the feel of his lips suctioning her moist labia.

The run had been a success, despite the one loss, and she was thrilled to share a bed with her husband again, but she was still stressed. Maggie's public execution of Gregory and her stance on the Sanctuary made her uneasy. Things were likely to get difficult with so many players on the field, so many ideologies, and she wasn't sure that she was ready for that.

Rick's rhythmic lapping of her pussy was exactly what she needed. She began to grind on his face, rubbing her clit on the bridge of his nose, applying more pressure, smearing her wetness on his face. Desire sizzled through her, tightening her nipples and making her shiver.

Rick moved further up the bed and recaptured her rutting pussy in his mouth. He moaned as he assuaged his hunger, his dick twitching in excitement. Michonne bent down and began taking his girth into her mouth. She began with the tantalizing mushroom head and sucked, wetting him and easing him down her throat until he hit the back. She closed her eyes and focused on controlling her breathing, waiting for her gag reflex to subside.

"Shit," Rick exhaled. He hadn't expected her to deep throat him off the bat. He turned his head and bit her fleshy thigh as she began bobbing up and down, fast and enthusiastic, gurgling on his dick as her saliva ran down his shaft.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes," he moaned, his eyes rolling.

He unclamped his teeth only to bite down harder, and Michonne yelped on his dick. It motivated her, though. He was trying to keep his moans low, but biting her was barely helping, his appreciation of her work verbally clear. She had every intention of sucking him dry. She wasn't going to stop until he had nothing left to give. The anticipation was almost too much.

Rick bit Michonne again, and she twitched. He was going to leave a mark on her thigh. It will be well-deserved. She was fanatical in how she was sucking and slurping his dick. It was as if she was trying to rip his soul from his body, and he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that she could have it. He spread his legs wide, his balls hefty with semen that he couldn't wait to give her.

"You're so good at this. Fuck," he said tightly, his voice deeper than usual.

Michonne switched to jerking him off to give her jaw a break. She peppered kisses all along his dick until she got to the tip. There, she softly zig-zagged her tongue, over and over. Rick was melting into the mattress.

Pleasuring him was fulfilling. She loved teasing him, and he made it fun. His troubled breathing and desperation were potent aphrodisiacs. She loved being in control and spoiling him, and she never had to wonder how well she was doing or if he was enjoying it.

She took her cues from his deep groans, how hard he squeezed her pert ass at a given moment, and the bucking of his hips as he tried to fuck her face.

He suddenly bucked up again, and she quickly lifted her head. "I don't think you want teeth with this," she chastised.

"Make me come, 'chonne. I'm so close."

"You don't have to beg," she said with a splash of condescension.

Because there were times when she had absolutely made him beg. But Rick was too addled to come up with a good retort. Besides, "You sound better with my dick in your mouth. Go back to that."

Michonne laughed, the sound light and airy. "Jackass."

But go back, she did. Aggressively. She braced her hands on the bed and finished him off with no hands. She covered him with her mouth for long, sloppy strokes that started at his shaft and ended at his tip, swirling her neck as she came back up and squeezing the head of his dick with her full lips when she did.

"Oh Go-aaah! Ah!" Sparks began flying under his skin, and his breath strangled in his throat. A full-body orgasm rippled through him in fat waves. He trembled all over, throwing his hips in Michonne's face as seven days' worth of come jutted out of him.

Michonne sucked her way up and stayed on his head, limiting the blowjob to just that section, turning it gentle. She let the thick elixir that she was craving pool in her mouth.

The sharp juxtaposition between the soft suction on his head and how hard he was coming drove Rick wilder, his mouth going slack. Stars exploded behind his eyes, and his body heated up. His head grew more and more sensitive from the suction, and he cried out in a falsetto.

Michonne was merciful this time and freed him. She swallowed and moaned in appreciation of his taste. She moved out of the sixty-nine position and took a seat next to him so she could watch him calm down.

"Thank you," she said as she rubbed his chest.

Rick sucked in air through his teeth as he experienced a tiny tremor. He ran his hands over his face, floating somewhere between a realm made up of surprise aftershocks and earth. "Damn, hon."

"The famous Rick Grimes," Michonne said seductively as she watched him twitch. "You come like no other."

 **The End**


End file.
